Serious, Sad, and Look! A Butterfly!
by MoonyEstelChase
Summary: A bunch of really short stories based off of a random word generator. Basically just me practicing writing :) Lighthearted, meditative, or doleful. Featuring all the boys (but mostly Newkirk)
1. Point

**A/N** This is (hopefully) a collection of oneshots based on random words. I know people have already done this, but I thought it would be fun to try. My title is actually very apt in describing what I anticipate these stories to be like. Sad, serious, and randomly funny.

 **Point**

Everyone has someone else they rely on. Hogan had the luxury of four men he could always turn to. His point men, you could say. Traditionally, a point man is the soldier at the head of a patrol. The point man is the most exposed person. The first to take hostile fire. Being point requires extreme alertness and attentiveness.

When Kinch takes point, he leads. As Hogan's right-hand man, Kinch often takes over operations at Stalag 13. His analytical mind does well managing the camp whenever a fill in for the CO is needed. Hogan often finds himself relying on Kinch's quiet strength, even when he is around. Everyone knows Kinch will have a practical answer for anything that is thrown at the little group.

When Carter takes point, he is _en_ _pointe_. Not that he dances, but Carter has a strange gracefulness. He seems to spin and whirl through hardships that would stop other men in their tracks, never losing his optimism. The typically clumsy sergeant lives up to his Sioux name in less tangible ways than surefootedness. He's a rock. A funny, endearing, pyromantic rock. Always sure, he never changes from the excited little boy Hogan has come to depend on for crazy ideas and encouragement.

When Newkirk takes point, he's the lookout. When the Londoner was growing up, he was often involved in … less than legal activities. He learned the importance of always having someone to watch your back. So as Hogan's self-professed left-hand man, the Englishman will never leave his Govenor's side. And this goes the same for his other mates. Whenever some monkey business is going on, you know where to find Newkirk.

When LeBeau takes point, he is the exact opposite of the meaning found in the military. Although he hates being compared to Canadians, the best analogy would be a hockey game. In hockey, the point stays farthest away from the net. He is their defense, backup. Not very physically intimidating, LeBeau makes up for his lack of size with temper. Despite his size, the fiery Frenchman is the hardest to lose. And if you hurt his friends, well, you better look out, you _Tête_ _de noued._

So? How was it? Good, bad, worthy of a violin concert courtesy of Colonel Klink? Let me know!

P.S. I apologize to any French speakers. I know Google Translate does not give your beautiful language any justice. And I don't know if that is a common insult, but I tried!


	2. Appear

Appear

It happened suddenly, and LeBeau nearly gutted himself instead of the fish. A low voice breathed heavily into his ear. "Please don't tell me you're makin' bloody fish stew."

The French cook startled. "Newkirk! Don't sneak up on me, you blaireau."

Newkirk frowned at his smaller friend. "What'd you call me?"

Snorting, LeBeau answered slyly, "A badger."

Newkirk narrowed his eyes, knowing the corporal wasn't telling him the whole truth, but eventually decided it wasn't worth the fight. He wandered off and LeBeau continued to cook, while wondering how his gangly friend appeared out of thin air. He resolved to make more of Newkirk's favorite foods so that he couldn't hide as well.

* * *

LeBeau called Newkirk a really nasty name. Don't call anyone that. While it does mean badger and also means shaving brush, when used as an insult, it's pretty bad. This story was basically just an excuse to use a French insult ;)


	3. Acceptable

**Acceptable**

Man often argues about what is acceptable. What kind of language should you use around children? Is torture ever allowable? Should smoking be outlawed? Does religion cause war? Those questions are all fine and good debates, but there is a question a person must answer about their own-self. What must I do to be an adequate person in my own eyes? Do I fulfill my expectations?

I'm not useful enough.

I'm not strong enough.

I'm not smart enough.

I'm not quick enough.

I'm not enough.

Then the excuses come. The tries to rationalize your feelings. The attempts to quiet your fears.

I'm too weary.

I'm too scared.

I'm too angry.

I'm too slow.

I can't.

The barracks buzz with the insecurities of you and your friends. But none of you tell each other the misgivings and doubts. And the next morning, you go about business as usual.

* * *

Woah. That went a lot deeper than I thought it would. Did you like it? I need reviews like Shultz needs strudel.


	4. Soak

**Soak**

The day had just been terrible. It had started with a typical mission. Deliver some info to the leader of the German underground, Danzig. But everything had turned so quickly. First, they had been found by a German patrol. Danzig had run off and everything had dissolved into chaos. Then LeBeau had been hit.

When the group had finally straggled back and found to their relief that LeBeau didn't have a life threatening injury, things had gotten worse once again when they heard from the Underground that Danzig had been shot and needed penicillin. And then, Newkirk and Carter were unable to get the penicillin to the Underground.

Hogan sighed and put his head in his hands. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He looked up when Kinch entered the room, carrying a bowl. The tall sergeant placed it on the floor next to his CO. "I know this will sound odd or even cliché, but I thought you might want a soak."

Hogan stared bemusedly at his second in command. Kinch explained, "I love soaking my feet. It makes my problems take the backseat for a bit."

Shrugging, Hogan took off his socks and shoes, then dipped his feet into the water. He sat there awkwardly for a while, looking at Kinch, who shrugged sheepishly. "Just trying to help."

Hogan thanked him, and Kinch left the room. The colonel smiled contentedly. The things his command crew would do to try and help him were laughable sometimes, but it was encouraging to know how much they cared. He got up when heard Shultz come into the barracks. The colonel smiled. He had a plan.

* * *

I really like soaking my feet. It's so relaxing and soothing. You should try it. I know lots of people have written stuff about this episode (That's No Lady, That's My Spy), but I wanted to try a different take on it.

Please review! My inner Shultz wants the cooks … uh, readers, to make strudel ... I mean, leave reviews. It's a worthy cause!


	5. Hair

**Hair**

 **A/N** I'm going to be at camp all week. A whole week outside in the 90-degree Fahrenheit heat. With no WiFi. No AC. Spending time with people I don't know. Yay. :P But I decided I needed to update before I leave tomorrow. I have no idea if any of you guys watched Psych, but this one-shot is inspired by Shawn's amazing hair, "the perfect balance of body and manliness, without too much give".

* * *

The lanky Britisher popped his neck. Stretching out, lazily splaying his fingers and arching his back, he reminded Carter of a cat. A black cat maybe. Carter snorted. A cat that needed a haircut. Standing and stretching himself, the American sergeant raised a question. "Hey Newkirk? Why is your hair so much longer than everyone else's? I mean, Colonel Hogan's is longer, but he's an officer, and Kinch's is too curly, but yours is so long compared to mine or LeBeau's, of course, other people have hair that's longer, I mean, look at Olsen, but why don't you …"

By then, Carter had finally noticed the glare that Newkirk had been giving and wisely shut his mouth. Newkirk rolled his eyes and answered Carter's ramble. "Dunno, mate. I think it's because me 'air is so fabulous that I can't bear to 'urt it." He pulled his hat off and ran his hand through the brown mess; smiling rakishly.

Multiple amused or annoyed voices chimed in to give their opinions on what Newkirk should do with his hair. The Corporal's smirk turned to a frown. "'ey! Keep your pants on! Me 'air is amazing! You lot are just jealous."

Olsen laughed out loud at that. "Jealous of your hair? You must be kidding! My hair is obviously the best. Thick and black …"

Another man called out that the only hair Olsen had was so thin and pale you couldn't tell he had any, but _he_ had so much it covered his whole body. The world dissolved into chaos.

Men started yelling how their hair was incredibly dashing or long or shiny or wavy or sexy; the list of attributes started to get long and loud. Eventually, the voices of Barracks 2 could be heard throughout the camp. And unfortunately, this attracted some attention.

After the third near fist fight, the door flung open to show the irate Kommandant standing with hand on swagger stick. "What is the meaning of this?" Klink screeched.

Mouths froze in mid-sentence as Klink stomped into the barracks. "Well?" he demanded. At that moment, Colonel Hogan entered the barracks, obviously confused. "What's going on, Klink?"

The German colonel spun around, thankful that he had someone to blame. "Hogan! I hold you responsible! Your men were having an argument so loud that I could not work! Do you not know how much I have to do?"

"Of course, Kommandant," Hogan soothed. "I'll sort it out."

Klink glared at his American counterpart. "I hope so, for the sake of your men. If I hear them one more time …" He shook his fist. "Mmph!" Klink spun around and marched out.

Hogan turned to his men. "You'd better have a good explanation for this."

Carter looked relieved. "Gee boy, uh, Colonel, we didn't know what to do! We couldn't tell him what we were really arguing about."

"Bombs? Plans? Escapees?" Hogan guessed.

Carter shook his head sheepishly. "Naw, we were arguing about who had the best hair. Couldn't really do that around Klink, huh?"

Hogan sighed in exasperation. "Well at least you've worked it out. I'm glad you came up with the answer, Carter."

"But, I didn't. Wait, and answer to what?"

Hogan winked. "An answer to who has the best hair! It's me!"


	6. Rainbow

**Rainbow**

Colors are fascinating. Colors can be comforting or bring horrible memories to mind. The coolest thing about colors and memories are that every person feels differently about them. So now, we're going to psychoanalyze Hogan and the crew, and see what color our boys' thoughts are.

* * *

 **RED** (Newkirk): Louis. His sweater. His temper. His blood on my hands. I feel helpless. I don't like feeling that way; most of my life has been out of my hands, even though I have good luck. Can't control him, can't stop my mates from feeling pain. I'd do anything to save them; I'd sacrifice the world. Louis' hemophobia. He can't control himself, either. He knows how I feel. I'm comforted. I'm not alone.

 **ORANGE** (Kinch): I want to go home and see my mom. Mom's apron is printed with limes, lemons, and oranges. She makes the best candied oranges in the early fall. Mom is from Florida, and I love hearing her stories about her life down there. My little brother is stationed on the USS Orange. He's touring the Pacific. I miss my family so much, sometimes I don't know if I can keep myself from asking Colonel Hogan for a transfer home.

 **YELLOW** (Hogan): Klink is such a coward! Can't he see that men are starving? Their skin are becoming transparent and turning an unhealthy color. Man, am I tired. How long can this war go on? We should do something about it. How about we blow the ammo dump near here? Yeah, I'll go tell the guys.

 **GREEN** (LeBeau): Pierre has unusual eyes. They change, and I know what they mean. I can read his signs. Oh! The garbure is burning! Ah, that's better. How I wish the Boshe would give us fresh vegetables. J'aime acheter des légumes au printemps. I felt so safe and happy before the war, wandering around the marketplace. Perhaps mon Colonel can barter with the Kommandant.

 **BLUE** : (LeBeau): The sky is beautiful today. It makes me long even more for freedom. I bet Newkirk is having a hard day today. Like the sea, he cannot be contained. Not for long. I'm glad Colonel Hogan is now here and can reign him in. Newkirk used to get beaten because he could not control himself. Of course, he still can't, and neither can I, but we are getting better at being still. Hmm, his sweater has a hole, I'll tell him to mend it.

 **INDIGO** (Carter): Ugh, this oil won't come off my hands. I hate being dirty. Messing with Klink's car is fun, but I'm always so messy afterwards. So is Kinch, but you can't tell with him. We're all getting to be experts in ruining cars! I hope LeBeau doesn't make me eat, I'm not very hungry. Wow, that water is so deep you can't see the bottom. Cool! Does someone have something heavy? I want to see how far down it goes.

 **VIOLET** (Newkirk): I've always wanted to be rich. Tried hard. But I could barely provide for Mave. I hate being tied down. I need to move. I wonder what the Guv wants from me today. Magic. Or maybe me to lose the little dignity I have left. I miss London. The pubs, fog, tall buildings, people who don't hunt you down when you leave. Pretty girls. I'm never going to get out. Never going to leave.

 **WHITE** (Kinch): I am tired of seeing all these boys hardened by war. The vibrant lights that are snuffed out. Carter is so refreshing in a sea of shock victims. Though I love Newkirk, his pessimism and depression can sometimes get me down. I'm glad he has Carter to cheer him and everyone else up. This snow can become surprisingly tiresome very quickly. At least when it snows we don't have to see the horridness of camp. It's transformed.

 **BLACK** (Hogan): Laying in the dark, waiting for sleep, is tedious. My fears come out and my worries are overwhelming. Oh God! I'm so scared. I keep relieving our close calls over in my mind. If a bullet had flown two feet to the right … Pull yourself together, Rob. Be strong for your men.

 **GREY** (Carter): The snow makes it almost dark outside, even though it's morning. How long is it gonna come down? In Dakota, it could snow for days. Is that Newkirk and Olsen sneaking out? Man, those two always twist the rules. They're going to get caught sometime. Colonel Hogan is not very happy with them right now; they really shouldn't be leaving. The snow is swirling in pretty patterns. I wish it wasn't blizzarding so I could make a snowman or have a snowball fight!

* * *

 **A/N** I'm back from camp! Yay! I'm sore, but still in one piece. This was so fun to write! I looked up color association. I think it is so interesting how certain colors mean certain things; ex. Blue means loyalty, trust, and stability; Orange means happiness, home, and endurance, etc. So cool. And it was also fun to write how their trains of thought would work; ex. LeBeau gets distracted easily, Newkirk is more disjointed, Carter has lots of enthusiasm, etc.

Please review! Because now Shultz _and_ Shawn are begging me for strudel, reviews, and pineapples (I really shouldn't have brought Shawn up in the last fic, he loves hearing how amazing he is and now he won't leave me alone). I can't give them reviews without your help. I beg of you.


	7. Diversion

**Diversion**

* * *

Hogan really needed to find something for the guys to do. There had been no missions that week ... or the week before … actually, a concrete mission hadn't taken place for at least a month.

"Three weeks and two days," Carter's voice spoke, startling Hogan, who had not seen his sergeant darning socks.

"What?"

Carter shifted around, almost losing his stitch. "You said we haven't had a mission in a month. Technically, it hasn't been a month since our last mission."

Hogan shrugged. He hadn't realized he had been talking out loud. "London needs to find something for us to do. I do not want a repeat of what happened on Monday."

Snickering, Carter said, "It was kinda funny to see Shultz running around with no pants."

Hogan paled and shuddered. "I will be forever scarred. Good thing Newkirk didn't get caught stealing Shultz's clothes from the bathhouse."

"Yeah, but he got caught by you."

"True." The men sat in silence for a few minutes. Carter laughed to himself again. "Colonel, do you think Newkirk has found where you put his cards yet?"

Hogan smiled. "No, but he probably will, soon. I don't think any of us can keep something hidden from him for long. But the longer he looks, the less time he has to pull stupid pranks that will get him thrown in the cooler."

Just then, the focus of their conversation purposefully strode into the barracks. He sat down at the table and began to shuffle the deck of cards he pulled from his pocket. "'ow you doing, Colonel?" Newkirk beamed genially.

Playing along, Hogan answered. "Good. You?"

"Just fine. I couldn't find me cards this mornin', but they turned up. And they were in one of the bunk slats in Barracks 9, no less! I can't even remember losing them."

Hogan nodded pleasantly. "And all your cards were in there?"

Newkirk froze in the middle of a bridge. "You woudn't … sir." He hastily flipped through the deck, but stopped abrubtly. "You took all the bloody aces!"

The feral grin on Hogan's face was slightly frightening. "It's not good if you're missing cards, right? Oh dear, what a problem."

Fuming, Newkirk stomped out, on the lookout for his four missing cards.

Hogan smiled again. That gave him and the camp at least a couple hours to hide more of Newkirk's things.

* * *

HELLOOOOOOOO People! I have returned after a lengthy illness! Well, it was just a cold, but still, cut me some slack. This story was pretty short, but really fun. Please review if you liked it! Or even if you didn't. I need some happiness!


	8. Arithmetic Pt 1

**Arithmetic Pt. 1**

Subtraction: The wait is almost unendurable. It always is. But when he doesn't come back, it is truly terrifying. I can't think about the possibilities, except, I very well can. He could be hurt, wounded by a Nazi bullet. He could be unconscious, having fallen. He could be captured. Or …

Oh God! He needs to be okay. Please. The Colonel won't help him. Why? Is Newkirk not important to the team? I know Louis and Kinch want to rescue him; what happened to the Colonel? He's supposed to take care of his men. Why doesn't he care?

Addition: This Colonel Hogan fella, he seems nice. Course, that doesn't mean anything. I really like The Frenchman and The Seargent. But That Brit looks shifty. I have no idea how they're gonna get me out of here. He said they had a "Traveler's Aid Society". I can't get caught. The German Seargent that saw me scared the beejeebies out of me! I thought I was gonna be captured, again.

I hope they get me out. Kind of. The operation here is amazing. I wouldn't mid staying little longer … No! Get your head out of the cloud, Carter. You can't be a spy! Go back home while you have the chance.

* * *

 **A/N** So, after my last story, a reader was kind enough to inform me that I was being a bit too persistent and childish in asking repeatedly for reviews. I'm really sorry! I totally was not trying to be annoying, but getting reviews makes me so happy. I guess I got a lottle (it's like a little, but a lot) carried away. Anyway, I apologize if I was getting on your nerves.

I'm here to learn, so if you have any more constructive criticism, just PM me. It's not offensive! I really appreciate if you care enough to let me know when I'm doing something wrong. I'll repeat: I'm not mad nor will I be!

Just one more note, I'm not even going to try to explain why Carter came back or his reduction of rank. There are plenty of theories, but that's not what this story is about. I'm simply giving some of Carter's thoughts on the team (in no particular order)!


	9. Arithmetic Pt 2

**Arithmetic Pt.2**

 **Division:** How could she? I love her, and I thought she loved me. I must have been wrong; no, I was wrong. A Dear John letter? To me, Andrew Carter? From Mary Jane. My sweetheart. My future wife. My love. I've got to sort this out. I don't understand … How?

I want to go home. But, she's there. This is so confusing! What should I do? What can I do?

 **Multiplication:** Hmmm. Baker sure is a quiet sort. He's very reticent with his opinions, even more so than Kinch. It's a nice contrast to Newkirk's gift of gab and my, well, I guess just gab. He even plays the bass like Kinch.

I like him.

* * *

 **A/N** I know it's uber-short. I didn't think it needed more. I don't usually write Carter, but I'm 100% sure he is not as childish as he seems. Anyone can have serious thoughts. Even Man-Children.

And again, I'm not going to explain why Kinch left. Others have done a much better job than I ever could. I just think that Baker doesn't get his fair due, even though I am sure a heck of a Kinch fangirl.


	10. Maid

**Maid**

* * *

Crap.

Lots of it.

EVERYWHERE.

Hogan figured if Klink didn't start breathing soon, it'd be pretty hard for Shultz to explain the circumstances of the Kommandant's death. "Why … I … Hoga … hgggkk …" Klink gasped.

Smiling genially, Hogan nodded. "Yes sir? Is something wrong?'

The increasingly pale Klink turned. "Why," he screeched, "Is my office covered in, in..."

"Feces?" Hogan suggested helpfully.

"YES!"

"Hmmm," Hogan mused. "Maybe it's from the horse."

"WHAT HORSE?"

"Oh, the bay. You know, Captain Haas'."

"What Captain Haas?" Klink's voice almost sounded … dangerous? No, that couldn't be. But just in case, Hogan decided to lay it on a little thicker.

"Well, he and Sergeant Sauer ... ha! Sour. That's quite funny …"

"Hogan!"

"Sorry. They came here about three hours ago, with some horse they said was for the Fuhrer. You didn't have a stable, so they decided the best place to put it was in your office."

Klink's face reddened a little more; from anger or fear, Hogan didn't know. "And then they got their summons by radio not five minutes before you got here. Isn't it incredible! I had no idea a horse could do so much damage in just two hours."

A baleful eye was turned onto Hogan. "I know this is some scheme of yours. So your men are going to clean it up."

A shocked gasp. "Klink! How is this our fault? We didn't tell him to come in here..."

"Hogan! Enough! You will have to pay."

Even after a good 15 minutes of haggling and whining, the Kommandant would still not change his mind.

And the worst part was, this time Hogan was telling the truth.


	11. Delicious Pt 1

**Delicious** **pt. 1**

* * *

 **1\. Goodness**

Carter was not looking forward to this mission. When he had seen Trigger, he had sighed. A girl. And that meant that either, 1. She was going to fall head over heels for Hogan and they'd end up kissing when the mission was complete, or 2. She was going to fall head over heels for Hogan and they'd end up kissing when the mission was a disaster. It was a known fact that Hogan was a source of romantic dreams for many a young Underground agent.

Carter had resigned himself to a night of uselessness, when a hand tapped his shoulder. He spun so quickly, that he nearly whacked Trigger in the face with the **Sturmgewehr 44** looped over his shoulder. He gasped in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! Did I hit you?"

Trigger smiled. "No. I am sorry to have startled you."

Carter returned the shy smile with a grin. "It's alright." His happiness faded when he realized, "Did the Colonel want me?"

She smiled bigger this time, the corners of her eyes crinkling. " _I_ did. I noticed you behind the Colonel, and I wanted to speak with you. You seemed very kind; I like that in a man. And your eyes are very warm and welcoming."

He was speechless, and his mind could only wrap around one thing. "You … wanted to talk to me? Not Hogan?"

Giggling, Trigger nodded. "Is that so odd?" She asked.

Carter's face lit up. "No ma'am!"

Trigger sat down on the wet grass and gestured for Carter to sit beside her. "Such a gentleman! We have time before the bombs must be set. Tell me about yourself; what you can."

Carter was looking forward to this mission.

 **2\. Charm**

"Oh, c'est trop Monsieur!" A whispered voice came from the trees. LeBeau and Newkirk turned to see a black-haired woman coming over. The French she spoke alerted them to her Resistance ties.

Louis smiled charmingly. "Pardonnez-moi Mademoiselle. Quel est votre nom?"

Newkirk sighed. He might not speak French, but he was pretty sure he got the gist of LeBeau's conversation.

The woman smiled. "Margaux."

"Vraiment? Ma femme s'appelle Margaux. Enfin, nous ne sommes pas encore mariés, nous venons juste de nous rencontrer."

Whatever LeBeau said made the agent (Margaux? What was that, Margret?) blush. "Oh! Monsieur..."

"...Louis"

She smiled. "Ah. Dites-moi, Louis, êtes-vous Presse-Purée?"

Louis shook his head in answer to her question. "Non, mon ami et moi lui servons de messagers."

The agant motioned to Newkirk. "Et qui est donc votre ami?"

LeBeau made a disparaging motion. "Un Anglais. Qui n'a en plus aucune appréciation pour l'art culinaire; j'ignore même pourquoi nous sommes amis!"

In English, LeBeau said, "This is Newkirk. Newkirk, this is Margaux."

Newkirk grinned at Margaux. "Pleasure to meet you, dear. Here, your hand looks heavy; will you let me hold it for you?"

She giggled girlishly, but didn't comply. Instead, she turned to LeBeau and renewed conversation. Still in French. Newkirk was getting a wee bit tired of it.

"Il est plutôt mignon."

LeBeau's mouth dropped and he gaped for a moment before he answered, "... Si vous le dites."

"Mmm, absolument. Il a de magnifiques yeux qui changent de couleur quand il parle. Et ses mains sont si fascinantes! Avec ces longs doigts fins qui semblent être si forts..."

Quickly interrupting, LeBeau asked her something. "Oui, bon, vous avez le message?"

Margaux passed a slip of paper to Louis. "Juste ici. Dites à Peter que j'adorerais faire plus ample connaissance avec lui une prochaine fois."

LeBeau smiled grimly, then motioned to Newkirk and left. Newkirk bowed to Margaux, who giggled again, then followed LeBeau back. "What'd she say? Was she talkin' about me?" He asked LeBeau.

LeBeau glared. "Saute par la fenêtre, ça me fera des vacances!"

* * *

-Hello, Monsieur.  
\- Hey, Gorgeous. Only the shining stars in the sky are equal to your beauty.

\- Oh, stop it!  
\- I'm sorry. What's your name?  
\- Margaux  
\- Really? My wife's name is Margaux. Well, we're not married yet, as we just met.  
\- Oh! Monsieur...  
\- Louis.  
\- Ah. Well, Louis, are you Papa Bear?  
\- No, me and my friend are here to take the message to him.  
\- And who is your acquaintance?  
\- An Englishman. He has no taste for any civilized food of any kind; I don't know why we are friends.

*introduces Newkirk*

\- He is quite handsome.  
\- ... I suppose so?  
\- Mmm, yes, very. He has lovely eyes that shift color when he talks. And his hands are so fascinating! Long thin fingers, but they look so strong ...  
-Yes, well, do you have the message?  
\- Right here. Tell Peter that I would love to get to know him later.

-Jump out a window; it'd give me a vacation.

* * *

 **A/N** I'm not dead! I promise! I'm so sorry it took so long to update; I like to do it at least once a week. But … life. And burnt fingers. Really.

I was making pancakes, then I stupidly grabbed the griddle itself instead of the handle. Very painful, but not serious, and totally worth it for chocolate chip pancakes. I have no regrets. Still, I only just got the feeling back in them a few days ago. (I think as far as excuses go, that one is pretty good.)

Kay, I LOVED writing this story. I wanted an excuse to say why I thought the guys other than Hogan were attractive, and how I think if the ladies weren't going for rank, there were some very handsome alternatives they were passing up. Stupid Shatner Effect! (ex. Captain Kirk from Star Trek kissing every scantily clad woman he meets; Hogan kissing every attractive agent he meets...) Each section is going to "showcase" other ladies noticing the traits I see in them that I want to see in whoever I marry.

Thank you to **Arwen2712** for more help with the French sections! You are wonderful and amazing!


	12. Piquant

**Piquant**

He had one rule for himself.

1\. Don't be anything you wouldn't eat.

This may sound confusing, but it makes perfect sense. Would _Pansette de Gerzat_ be dull? Can _s_ _oupe à l'oignon_ be unappetizing or _Tapenade_ be bland?

No.

So why would he cave to stale convention if he could be salty? If flavorful words were needed, he would oblige. When he arrived at the stalag, he found a kindred soul that wore blue, and though his friend protested, it was clear that he had found another one of the race that spoke with spice.


	13. Boys

**Boys**

"How can someone be made of snails and tails of dogs? This makes no sense! And what is a snip?" LeBeau complained.

Carter opened his mouth to answer, but Kinch interrupted before Carter could reply. "The rhyme only means that males are disgusting and women are perfect."

LeBeau nodded. "It is true..."

"Hey!" Carter protested.

LeBeau rolled his eyes and continued, "But what is a snip?"

Hogan nearly caused a heart attack in the men as he answered from the shadows. "Little bits of random things. You know, stuff little boys keep in their pockets."

Lighting up, Carter interjected, "Like dynamite!"

Everyone's disbelieving eyes turned to the resident pyromaniac. "No. No kid keeps explosives in 'is pocket." Newkirk pointed out.

"I ..."

"NO. We don't want to hear about your disturbing childhood, Carter. No one does that."

Carter turned out his pockets, showing timers and fuses.

Sighs ensued.


	14. Flushed

**A/N** Did ya notice what I've been doing? Drabbles!  Piquant was 100 words, Boys was 150. This drabble is 200. Does it count as a drabble if it is more than 100? I think so. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Drabbles may be shorter and take less time to write, but just as much effort is infused into the process. Oh, and this drabble is based off of Chapter 4 of Adventures in h-c. You don't have to have read it, though.

 **Flushed**

Sure, Kinch had saved him from dying of heat stroke, but Newkirk _had_ been in that field for a while, and was feeling it now. His face was lobster red (in fact, LeBeau had jokingly asked if he could be used to make _Lobster Thermidor_ ). Skin was peeling from any exposed area, rain-drop blisters were exploding, and he itched so badly he had seriously considered asking Carter to skin him.

Everyone had advice. Pour yogurt or milk on it. Put teabags on the affected areas (he refused out of principle). Cucumbers. Witch Hazel. Baking Soda. Cornstarch. Finally, he cracked. "Does anyone have advice that doesn't include wasting food?" he yelled. The well-meaning crowd grew silent.

Kinch sighed. "Just take a cool bath."

Newkirk huffed. "Some friend you are. 'ere I am, sufferin', and you tell me to take a bath."

The dark eyebrows furrowed. "You asked for advice, I gave some. What else do you want?"

"I wanted something to make it leave, permanently. Baths only help a little while." Newkirk whined.

Kinch glared.

"I'm not givin' in! You won't make me feel bad."

"..."

"No sir."

"..."

"It's not goin' to work."

"..."

"Really!"

"..."

"Fine!"


	15. Bat

**Bat**

"Mad, insane, deranged, demented, crazed, lunatic, unhinged, mental, not right in the head, round the bend, bonkers, loopy, touched. Need I go on?"

"No."

"Good."

"… But will it work?"

"…"

"I thought so."

"I will not dress up like a girl again! I refuse!"

"... You do look good in black."


	16. Glib

**Glib**

"I swear, sir. There is an explanation."

Hogan stared in shock. "I ... I don't think I want one. Not until ... Dammit! I can't think. Someone get LeBeau some pants!" he shouted.

Kinch was repeatedly rubbing his eyes to ensure they still operated. Olsen had fainted from laughter-induced oxygen deprivation before LeBeau had the chance to furiously sock him. Newkirk was looking everywhere but at another person. In fact, the only person seemingly unaffected was Carter. Well, he was affected, but not by the situation.

"Wow. I've never noticed how dirty this table was before now."

* * *

 **A/N** Guys,  Signy1 is a master writer. They wrote a drabble called _A Funny Thing Happened_ that left me rocking in laughter. They then graciously allowed me to post this follow up drabble. Thanks so much!


	17. Dirt

**Dirt**

Sometimes, the tunnels were too much. He couldn't breathe, couldn't talk. How the others never noticed bothered him. His friends knew that he was claustrophobic, but they never put two-and-two together.

He was completely covered; no escape. Brown earth surrounded him with panic. When the panic attacks faded and he could think again, he often wondered if the others ever felt this way. Was he the only one who had _two_ debilitating irrational fears? Was he the only one who burdened the team this way?

After he pulled himself together, he went back down the ladder.


	18. Efficacious

**Efficacious**

"… What is he doing?"

Shultz was staring in confusion at something in the distance. Carter ambled over. "Oh. It's just Newkirk."

"I know that," Shultz answered. "But what is he doing?"

Carter shrugged. "It looks like a handstand, but it's hard to tell from here."

Narrowing his eyes, Shultz peered harder. Now that Carter mentioned it, it did look like a handstand. "Why is he doing that?" He asked in bemusement.

"Dunno." Carter said nonchalantly. "Why don't you go see?"

Shultz nodded. "I will see what the Englander is doing." The large guard toddled off to investigate the unusual matter of acrobatic Newkirk. Carter stood for a while, but once he was sure Shultz was out of sight, he bolted back to the barracks. As he opened the door, three pairs of eyes shot up, then softened in relief.

"How's the diversion?" Hogan asked.

"Pretty well. I think Newkirk is having a headstand competition with Greene form Barracks 12. Shultz is checking it out."

Kinch snorted. "I'm not dressing him when he can't put a shirt on tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N** Efficacious means "successful in producing a desired or intended result; effective".


	19. Irritate

**Irritate**

Newkirk was sulking on his bed. Again.

Rolling his eyes, Carter trotted over to LeBeau. "What's up with him today?"

LeBeau sighed. Again. "He has 'tonsillitis'."

Carter gasped in worry. "Does he need them out?"

"No. He is already feeling better. But he still cannot eat anything but my soup, and he has no voice to complain." LeBeau laughed with non-disguised glee.

The glare Newkirk gave could melt steel, titanium, anything ... except LeBeau's cold heart. The Englishman tried to rasp out a retort, but could only swallow painfully.

Carter grinned. "I see. This could be fun."

* * *

 **A/N** I have tonsillitis. Like, right now. So in Newkirk's place, I will say "You bloody jokers. If you do one thing ..." Oh. And he'd also like me to tell LeBeau to go to hell.

Be nice to sick people. They have feverish tempers.


	20. Accurate

**A/N I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'm working on several fics at a time, so I'm getting a little distracted.**

* * *

 **Accurate**

Newkirk smiled. "Am I right?"

Kinch sighed. "Yes. It's a ten of hearts."

The Englishman pumped his fist in the air. However, Carter was still skeptical. "What card am I holding?" he said as he pulled one at random from the deck.

Newkirk bit his lip as he thought for a moment. "Two of clubs?"

Carter's shoulders slumped. "Yeah."

The victory dance that followed was not appreciated by the other occupants.

* * *

 **A/N Surely victory dances were a thing in the 1940's :)**


	21. Woozy

**Woozy**

* * *

"Well, he shouldn't have done it!"

"But he couldn't walk away from a challenge like that!"

"Uh, yes he could."

"The guards would have thought he was weak."

"He is."

"'ey! That's offended."

"I think you mean offensive."

'"That's what I said. Amended."

"Still not right."

"You're all a bunch of ... of ..."

"Go to bed."

"NO! I don't want to!"

"You're not two! Go to bed!"

"Are we sure of that? He seems to be two most of the time."

"That's imbedded too!"

"Oh - fen - siv. English isn't even my first language, but I know that. You ARE English, and you can't say it."

"He is pretty drunk."

"I'm not drunk!"

"Mmhm. I'm sure. No, wait! Give that hat back!"

"It's mine! No, it's mine, it's my 'at. You can't ..."

"Got it!"

"Back! Give it baack!"

"Be still. I need to take off those boots."

"NOOOOOOO!"

* * *

 **A/N** When Newkirk gets wasted, he's gone.


	22. Defective

**A/N I have returned from a nice long hiatus, full of pineapple and kittens. It was briefly interrupted by a wisdom teeth removal, but now that I can eat pecans again, I'm fine.**

* * *

 **Defective**

* * *

 _Washed out blue uniform. Scraggly hair. Thin fingers. Roguish, crooked smile. Green eyes that sparkle and connive. Lean body._

If you saw him walking down the street, that's how you might describe him. Not that he'd be walking down any streets nowadays. Being in prison and all.

*.*.*.*.*.*

 _Sneering sarcasm. Itching for a fight. Dirty moves. Insolent, stuck up Englander._

His enemies knew what he really was. Or so they thought.

*.*.*.*.*.*

 _Merry laughter and jokes. A hard, leathery front that hid kindness inside. A deep loyalty that overrode any survival instinct._

His friends knew who he was. Right?

*.*.*.*.*.*

 _Broken._ _Flawed._ _Imperfect._ _Cracked._ _Weak._

But he knew.


End file.
